


A Certain Night in August

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-11
Updated: 2012-06-11
Packaged: 2017-11-07 12:24:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson's Journal Entry</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Certain Night in August

August 4th 1998

Before dying himself in an automobile accident, Albert Camus wrote that the only serious question in life is whether to kill yourself or not.   
I've never quite understood that before, but at this very moment in my life it finally makes sense to me. How important are our lives? And will our presence on this earth do more good than bad in the long run?  
We go through life suffering, tormented by our friends, enemies and even strangers. Sometimes we find love but we'll always lose it in the end. For me I lost it sooner than I would have ever expected. Much too soon.

My name is Dr John Watson, and my councillor has considered I start writing a journal to keep track of my thoughts at this 'difficult' time. He knows how hard I find it to truly express myself when it comes to matters such as this, so by discussing my problems within myself he hopes I might finally come to terms with the loss and move on. My personal belief is that it is only mad people who have internal discussions but I might as well give him the benefit of the doubt. Humour him for a while.

The date is August 4th 1998. It's not just any date though, it's exactly one year since an accident that killed my best friend, my companion if you will. It's the date he died, and going back to what Albert Camus said, it could also be the day I die as well.  
I'm still debating the only serious and most important question in life, should I kill myself?  
I could say that my existence on this planet was once useful. I was a doctor in Afghanistan, healing the wounded before I myself was wounded in turn and sent back home. But by healing soldiers, all I was doing was fueling the war. Glueing broken toys back together just to watch them fall apart again. The only time I ever made anyone's life better was those years I lived in 221b Baker Street. I moved in to that house with a stranger, we came together to afford the rent, as acquaintances, nothing more.  
Over those short years he became my best friend, and then so much more. I assisted in his line of work and we became inseparable, which is probably why i'm struggling on my own so much right now.   
When you make someone such a huge part of your life that everyday tasks involve them somehow, how do you continue to function without them?  
It's a struggle I've gone through everyday for the last year, and what makes it worse is I don't know why he left. I don't know why he died. I just know he fell, and my friend did nothing accidently. So maybe he turned this very same question over and over in his mind. He had an answer for everything, so maybe he found the answer and let himself go. Let himself fall, before I could tell him everything I'd wanted to. It's too late.

I'm teetering on the edge. But I know that if I end my life now these past years will all have been a waste. So I won't leave yet. I'll exist until I find out why he died. Once I know that I can go to sleep happily, and join him at rest.

 

So my darling Sherlock, I'll see you again soon, and all my love is with you. Always.

John Watson


End file.
